Daughters of the Reach
by distant-echoes
Summary: After a chance meeting in icy Windhelm, a Breton and an Orc find their paths inexplicably joined. Despite leaving their homeland for different reasons, these two daughters of the Reach must work together and confront the ghosts of their past or forever be enslaved by them. Non-Dragonborn, female OCs.
1. The Road to Windhelm

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the storyline, plot, history or characters found in the Elder Scrolls series. I own only what is not stated in the game or by the developers/writers. Thank you.

**Author Note:** Okay, long ago I had posted a different Skyrim story called "Beyond the Pale". Though people enjoyed it, I didn't have a clear idea of where it was going and so I took it down along with a few other stories. This is my attempt to return to this fandom and see if I can rock it like I think I can, LOL. This story has been running around in my head and pulled up on my computer more times than I care to count. I think I'll give it a shot.

It centers around a female Breton and a female Orc and will include several quests from the game. Neither are the Dragonborn, though the Dragonborn may make an appearance. There will be intrigue, violence, and maybe a bit of hanky-panky as well. Hopefully, I'll entertain you guys...I certainly entertain myself, so let me know, okay?

That said, please enjoy!

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**Chapter One**

The Road to Windhelm

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It was one of those frigid, cold days in Skyrim that made one feel as though their bones were made of ice. Snow had recently fallen from the sky in steady sheets and all around, a blanket of white made the world seem like one large, blank scroll. Only pockets of coniferous trees and shrubbery could be seen, the dark green of their branches the only color in an otherwise colorless land. It was only by some blessing that she hadn't gone astray.

For now the oppressive cloud cover had moved aside, allowing Nirn's sun to cast its pale light below. Its light was welcome, its presence reminiscent of a kind sentry as the lone woman traveled. She had walked for three days now in this icy land, bundled up against the weather in furs and wool. There was little doubt that she looked rather ragged.

Her mousy brown hair, tied back in several messy braids, hung dull and greasy around her face. Strands of it stung her face as the wind assaulted her despite the clear day. Hunched over against the bite of the evening air, the casual observer could easily mistake her for an aged, gray matron.

Originally from the mild, silver-rich hills of the Reach, Elise Motierre had slowly made her way north and then east, her ultimate destination the College of Winterhold. Already she had passed through the gates of Rorikstead and Whiterun, staying only a few days in each before leaving once more with high hopes and fresh supplies. Windhelm, however, seemed destined to be delayed.

Elise might have arrived there already, but a day and a half out from Whiterun the weather changed for the worst. Had she traveled with a caravan or by carriage, she might have had little trouble pressing onward. But Elise was no wealthy merchant and her small pouch of gold coins was far too modest for such luxury. She had set out from Whiterun much as she had from other cities along her journey – on foot, with the few luxuries she could afford.

Once along the road she now walked, she'd been forced to seek shelter in a small cave. In it, she had encountered a large frost spider and her young. With the ability to spit venom at potential threats and prey alike, the frost spider surprised Elise as she neared the back of the small cavern. The venom hit her full in the face and in her alarm she sucked in a breath and some of the spider's venom as well. Weakened and losing consciousness, Elise used the last of her strength to set the creatures aflame before collapsing a few moments later. By some miracle, her flame spell didn't engulfed her as well, but she did suffered minor burns to her hands from the Casting.

When she awoke some hours later, vomiting and nearly paralyzed, she healed herself as best she could and decided it was best to stay overnight. She went to sleep that night and did not awaken again until nearly half a day later. Traveling was difficult that evening, but she managed to stumble across the wide river of Yorgrim before nightfall.

Surely, she'd reasoned, the river would lead her to the elusive city of Windhelm and to civilization once more. But alas, two more days of traveling were behind her now and though frost spiders had not hindered her progress again, the weather did.

Now, following the worn stones of a road near the Yorgrim, Elise was beginning to realize the severity of her situation. The stones were half-hidden by blowing snow and the hours continued to pass. With each step, the cold drew more and more of her energy away. Her supplies were running low as well. She had to get out the wind before she froze.

Shaking, the exhausted woman crested yet another hill of stone and snow. She was rewarded with the rising smoke of a campfire below. Protected from much of the wind by an overhanging rock formation, two tents were raised and huddled around the fire were three figures. And though she was far away, Elise could smell roasting meat.

Her stomach rumbled.

Realizing she may have found salvation, she prayed quickly for safety before beginning her descent towards the wind blew harshly around her, stinging skin made whiter still with cold. Her feet crunched rhythmically in the snow. As she walked, she could not help but wonder what awaited her. The thought of having to defend herself out here, with little more than a dagger and a few spells at her disposal, was frightening.

Uncertainty filling her, she stopped halfway between the hill and the camp. Raising her hands to her mouth, Elise called out and announced her presence. At first, she received no response...so she called again. This time, one of the figures seated around the fire heard her and drew the others' attention. Now, the other two were up and turning towards her. She swallowed and waited, not knowing what else to do.

A tall, lanky figure stood and turned to look at her. The figure removed the hood of their cape and even at this distance, Elise made out the tufted ears and furred visage. In the others, too, she saw the same. Khajiit traders then and not bandits...

Elise shivered, though not entirely because of the cold.

She had heard of the cat-people that wandered the wilds of Skyrim. Said to be clever and fierce, they were often suspected of thievery and murder. Having only met one or two in her entire life, Elise felt instantly distrustful.

As though he or she could sense her apprehension, the tallest of the three turned towards the others and said something to them. From this distance, she could not hear what was said. After tense moments, the three Khajiit came to some form of decision and the Tall One started towards her. The others waited near the campfire.

It was only after he drew nearer that she could tell that he was male.

The Khajiit was large, tall and muscularly built. Covered in rich brown fur, he wore a worn, but well-maintained assortment of leather armor. On his hip was tied an impressive steel sword in battered leather scabbard. With large tufted ears and a furry, whiskered face, he looked like the mating of a human and a saber cat.

Unconsciously, she took a step backwards. Cocking his head to the side, Tall One raised a hand to stay her.

"Please, do not be frightened, traveler. This one means you no harm." The male said in a voice deep and accented. "He seeks only to know why she would travel alone during such frightful and cold weather."

She did not answer right away, unsure of what to say to the strange Khajiit, but found she couldn't use her fear to justify being rude. After all, she'd called out to them first. Meanwhile, the Khajiit waited patiently for her to speak, his ears twitching in the cold wind.

"I was traveling to Windhelm, but I have lost my way and I'm running low on food," She finally said, exhaling the breath she'd been holding. "When I saw your fire and smelled your cooking, I decided to ask if I might share in a little of both."

"Ah, this one begins to see." Tall One answered.

"I have some goods to trade," Elise added, absently rubbing her hands together to warm them, "as payment for food and a night's rest."

The Khajiit flashed a toothy smile and stepped aside, motioning for her to precede him to the camp.

"This one is most happy to offer his people's hospitality to a weary traveler. She has something useful, such as coin or goods to trade, and trading is a Khajiit specialty. Please, come this way..."

"Thank you," she said, breathing a sigh of relief. Without another word, she preceded the Tall One to the camp.

.

* * *

.

Within the campfire's warmth, one tent sat closer to the flames than the others. Made of oiled leather and painted with symbols she could not understand, it dwarfed the third human-like cat seated within a few feet of the entrance. He was smaller, the third Khajiit, and his dark fur was streaked with gray. Seated on a fur blanket inside the warm glow of the fire, Elise bowed to the aged one as a sign of respect. He chuckled, closing gold eyes for a moment and then inclined his furred head in return.

"Food will be brought, traveler." The aged one told her in a raspy, deeply accented voice. His tailed swished behind him. "It is not the food of kings, but it is the best Khajiit have to offer one who is weary."

"Thank you," Elise said, rubbing hands that began to tingle with feeling at last. "Your hospitality is appreciated, truly. I don't know what I would have done had I not stumbled on your camp. My supplies have dwindled during my journey, but I can spare a few things in trade."

"Trade is a specialty of this one's people. But first, this one should introduce his companions, yes?"

She nodded, smiling yet again at the trader's friendly manner. "Please do."

Movement to her right made Elise turn and she watched as the first Khajiit, tall and lithe, settled nearby. Pulling his sword from its sheath smoothly, he produced a whetstone from out of thin air and began to sharpen the blade. Swallowing a bit, Elise cleared her throat.

The small, gray Khajiit seemed to sense her momentary discomfort and drew her attention towards him again with speech.

"The tall one there is called Ma'jhad. Although he sharpens his sword, she had no need to fear. He is our protector in this cold land and would not have allowed her closer had he felt she was a danger. This one wishes her peace, yes?"

"Yes, I'm sorry. I'm just – well, it's been a hard journey, that's all."

"How well Khajiit understand such dangers," the female finally spoke up, appearing at Elise's side to push a pewter cup and a steaming bowl filled with dark and glossy stew into her hands. Task now finished, the female settled on a rock nearby and continued:

"These three have journeyed far and wide along the roads of Skyrim and have lost several along the way. The traveler is brave to wander these lands alone – brave or very foolish."

Breathing a prayer to the Divines, Elise set her pewter cup aside. She wanted to acknowledge the female's words, but did not want to seem defensive or argumentative. In truth, the Khajiit female had a point...unfortunately.

"Yes, imprudent is good way to describe my journey so far...at least, my journey from Whiterun to here. No doubt, I will remedy that if I should ever reach my destination."

"This one is Ra'Zhinda, traveler, and she means no harm," the silver female muttered, ears twitching a bit as the wind kicked up and ruffled the cloak around her shoulders. "She is a kinsman of Ma'dran, the trader there. As his offspring, this one wants to welcome her."

A moment passed with no sound but Ma'jhad sharpening his blade and the fire crackling in the background. With nothing else to say at this point, Elise began to eat with gusto. That is, until the sound of someone clearing their throat made her look up.

"Ma'dran has offered his new friend food and drink," the small gray Khajiit said, cocking his head to one side and staring at her intently. "It would seem that she should introduce herself as well, yes? Explain, perhaps, why she journeys alone in this snow-filled wilderness."

Slowly, it dawned on Elise that she was being rude. Setting her bowl aside self-consciously, she gave a half-hearted chuckle.

"Um, yes...You are right, of course. Forgive me."

"It is no matter." Ma'dran muttered, dismissing her apology with a wave of one furred hand. His expression, however, did not change. "This one would ask her name. Also, she has mentioned that she is not certain that she will reach her destination...which makes him wonder, what is her destination?"

"My name is Elise, Elise Motierre. I've been traveling from the Reach for nearly a fortnight now, though I still hope to reach Winterhold before true winter sets in. And though my next supply point is supposed to be Windhelm, the snows and the cold have delayed me quite a bit."

"She mentions Winterhold?" Ma'dran asked, his ears perking upwards. "There is an ancient place in that city – a college, this one remembers – where mages and sorcerers go to study and grow stronger."

"Yes...the College of Winterhold. I've dreamed of studying there for years...ever since I was a child, in fact."

A glint entered the old Khajiit's eyes then.

"There is another at this College, a Khajiit who is called J'Zhargo." The old trader muttered. "He, too, hopes to master the arcane."

"It is foolishness." Ma'jhad interrupted suddenly, the whetstone growing still as he spoke. "J'Zhargo has abandoned the way of Khajiit. He no longer travels with the caravans. Instead, he wishes to learn the way of mages. A Khajiit should not wish for these things..."

"But, why not?" Elise asked before she could stop herself. At once, there was tension in the air. Ma'jhad, especially, seemed tense. His hand had stilled, the whetstone forgotten in his lap.

It was the female who addressed her now, her relaxed demeanor now gone.

"It is not her place to ask such things," Ra'Zhinda muttered tightly from her place on the rock. "Such things are not discussed among those who are not Khajiit. She is sorry, traveler, but no more can be said."

The trader turned towards Ma'jhad.

"This one believes it would be best if he would sharpen his blade elsewhere for a time. There is still the matter of trade to address, yes?"

"This one will not go." Ma'jhad snapped, tail whipping from side to side in agitation.

"It was no request." Ma'dran replied, casting narrowed eyes at the larger, brown male. "His careless words have created discord among friends and questions where none should exist. It is enough the traveler knows of J'Zhargo and his presence at the College. Ma'jhad's personal quarrel with J'Zhargo is unimportant-"

What followed was an argument unintelligible to Elise's ears, filled as it was with garbled words made entirely of hissing and growling. The main dispute seemed to be between the Ma'dran and Ma'jhad, though the female, Ra'Zhinda, chimed in from time to time. After what seemed an eternity, the verbal battle abated. It ended with Ma'jhad rising to his feet and leaving the warmth of the fire, sword in hand. He disappeared around the cliff-face moments later, with an angry Ra'Zhinda in tow.

Alone with the trader now, Elise felt decidedly out of place. Appetite gone, she laid both her bowl and her cup aside as she attempted to figure out what had just happened.

"She is not eating?" Ma'dran told her, startling her out of her self-conscious thoughts with a furred hand on her forearm. "Perhaps the language of the Khajiit is too harsh to her ears...but it is nothing for her trouble herself with, no..."

Bringing up brown eyes to meet his strange gold ones, Elise saw kindness and apology in his whiskered face. His withdrew his hand and folded it in his lap once more.

"I'm sorry," she said, looking away. "I shouldn't have asked. It was none of my business..."

"Please, my friend, there is no reason for apology. It was Ma'dran who brought up the Khajiit, J'Zargo, though he knew how Ma'jhad might react. It was Ma'dran's hope that the traveler would consent to take a letter to J'Zargo...as a favor for his hospitality."

Elise nodded. "Of course, I see no reason why I could not do as you ask."

"He is happy to hear this." Ma'dran said, giving her a toothy version of a Khajiit smile. "He will prepare one before she leaves – after she has rested, of course, and his kinsman have told her the way to Windhelm."

"Windhelm?"

He nodded, reaching over to grab a piece of wood and hand it to her. He gestured to the nearby fire and, without a word Elise took the small log and tossed it into the flames. In a flurry of sparks, it began to burn.

"Yes, it would not do for her to wander much longer in so unforgiving a land. As she has consented to do Ma'dran a favor, he shall do one for her. The traveler will reach Windhelm by safe roads, this he promises her..."


	2. Beyond the Gates

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the storyline, plot, history or characters found in the Elder Scrolls series. I own only what is not stated in the game or by the developers/writers.

I want to take a minute to thank the people who reviewed, followed, and favorite my story after the last chapter: **SickReality**, **Shroudedpanther**,** Recon 13**, and **kingkrab88**.

You guys are great and I appreciate the feedback! I hope you all like this next chapter as well. :)

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**Chapter Two**

Beyond the Gates

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The next day, the weather was much improved. With only a minimum amount of snow falling from the sky and a gentle wind that barely nipped at exposed flesh, Elise made good time. The directions given to her by the Khajiit traders that morning had made a world of difference in her travel. It was only an hour or so passed midday when she crested a hill bordered on one side by a babbling stream and beheld Windhelm for the first time.

Excitement simmering within her breast, Elise took a few moments to admire one of the oldest and best protected strongholds in all of Skyrim.

Situated across the widest part of the Yorgrim River, with high mountains rising protectively at its back, Windhelm's ancient stones were dark against the blinding white and gray-toned land of Eastmarch. Connected to the ice-filled river's far bank by a massive, fortified bridge, the home of Ulfric Stormcloak was both daunting and awe-inspiring.

Even at this distance, it was not difficult to see the large ornate carved parapets along the walls, or the sentries that waited amidst the bridge's thick ramparts. Here was the epicenter of the current Rebellion, the beacon of hope for all Nords who dreamed of glorious revival and nationalism.

Hewn into the side of a vast mountain by the fabled Dwemer - a stocky, dwarfed raced renowned for their metallurgy and stonework - Elise found that her home of Markarth paled in comparison to the ornate, grand style of the Nordic Windhelm.

Elise shook her head, dismissing the dismal thoughts that threatened to dampen her anticipation. The Breton forced herself to remember that she was not in the far-flung city of Markarth anymore. The evils that linger in the shadows and corners of the Reach were no longer her concern. She had reached Windhelm at long last and would make the best of her time there.

Her first concern was getting into the city. She needed a safe place to rest and gather her strength for the next leg of her long journey. She also needed to find a way to purchase all the necessary supplies. Her skills were few and far-between, but they had helped her survive in Markarth for most of her adult life.

What was more, with the certainty that foul weather would continue now she had reached the more northern segment of her journey, she would need to hire a carriage that could take her further to Winterhold.

Her determination returning as she fixed her goals firmly in mind, Elise hoisted her pack more securely onto her shoulders. Casting a weary glance towards the clouds overhead, Elise knew there was the possibility of more snow before the day was out. She had to enter the city before the weather changed again.

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.

Windhelm, Elise was quick to realize, was as closed-off and forbidding as its massive stone walls suggested. She had barely crossed the wide, stone bridge connecting the city to the opposite shore of the Yorgrim when she found herself surrounded by armed and armored guards. In haughty, brusque voices they questioned her about everything - where she was from, what her business in the city was, along with her family and the nature of their trade.

At one point, her traveling bag was taken from her and searched by another guard to see if she carried anything suspicious. When she found the courage to ask why she was being treated so rudely, she received only poorly concealed threats that if she didn't cooperate or mind her manners beyond the walls, punishment would be swift and absolute. Her kind, she was told, and those of the other races had better remember that.

Jarl Ulfric, it seemed, cared little for anyone who threatened the glorious restoration of the Nord homeland.

Once allowed inside, Elise walked along the glistening and cobbled streets and saw that the outwards appearance of Windhelm was a farce. Though impressive on the outside, there was little within the walls that she would describe as glorious at all. No matter where she looked, she saw only ice and gloom. It lingered over each dwelling place and within the eyes of each person she passed. Only the guards themselves and a few burly Nords seemed immune to the melancholy. A burden fell upon her shoulders.

It was all too familiar, too much like the city she had left behind.

As if to cement her growing dismay, raised voices and shouts of outrage drew her eyes towards one alleyway to her right. Two Nords, both dressed in woolen shirts and stained breeches, had cornered a Dunmer woman and were accusing her of working for the 'enemy'. Drawing back one hand, the taller of the two men struck the elven woman across the cheek, raising a dark welt against the naturally gray-blue skin.

"You're a damned spy, gray-skin. All of you...spies for the Empire." The man growled, jabbing a pale finger at her as she stumbled back against the rough wall of a building. His compatriot grinned.

"You and all the elves in this province will be made to pay one day." The second man added. "When Jarl Ulfric becomes High King, he'll send all you scheming milk-drinkers back across the Dunmeth Pass and back where you belong...those blasted lizards too."

Heart pounding, Elise watched the exchange with growing anxiety and wondered whether she should call a guard to break up the argument. Fearful and unsure, with her own experience with the guards at the gate fresh in her mind, she found courage elusive. Turning from the trio with a mixture of self-loathing and uncertainty, she walked away with a prayer for forgiveness on her lips.

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.

Brunwulf Free-Winter watched the newcomer balk as she traveled along one of the main streets of the city and though he followed a fathom or two behind, he heard the exchange in the alleyway which had obviously spooked her. No doubt, Rolff and Angrenor were harassing another Dunmer who'd made the unfortunate decision to come out of the Gray Quarter. He wanted to shake his head at the absurdity of it all.

After the eruption of volcanic Red Mountain, many impoverished Dunmer - or Dark Elves, as the ashen-skinned elves were sometimes called - had streamed across the Dunmeth Pass connecting the province of Morrowind to Skyrim looking for relief and new lives. Most had traveled as far as Windhelm, only to stop there when they found they lacked the coins to travel farther. The ones that were forced to stay were quickly relegated to the dirty, poorer streets near the docks. These streets were simply known as the 'Gray Quarter'.

While open violence was discouraged in the streets, Rolff and Angrenor always seemed to find ways to persecute and sometimes injure those that Jarl Ulfric, himself, cared little to protect. The newcomer stood only a moment to watch the exchange and with hurried steps moved along. Brunwulf felt only a mild disapproval as the newcomer ignored the plight of the Dunmer woman.

With long strides, the graying Nord closed the distance between him and the alleyway in a matter of moments and turned the corner. And just as he had suspected, Rolff Stone-Fist and Angrenor Once-Honored were standing over the huddled form of a Dunmer woman.

"What's going on here?" he demanded, looking back and forth from the two Nords and the Dunmer.

He recognized the woman as Suvaris, a clerk for one of the more affluent families in the city. Though her face was bruised and her clothes disheveled, she seemed none the worse for wear. He was heartened to see fire in her eyes as she glanced up quickly to see who'd intervened.

"...nothing that should be your concern, Free-Winter." Rolff replied, straightening his form and staring at Brunwulf with unveiled distaste. "Just showing the Gray-Skin her place in the world..."

Scowling at the implication, Brunwulf took a moment to motion to Suvaris with his head. Taking the suggestion, she quickly gathered her woolen shawl which had fallen by the wayside and edged away. The woman no longer a concern, he turned his full attention to Rolff and Angrenor.

"On her face?" Brunwulf's tone darkened. "You two know well the rules that Jarl Ulfric has against open violence in the streets. You touch this woman again and I'll take you to the Palace of the Kings myself."

"And then what?" Angrenor laughed, rubbing his balding head absently. "We are loyal soldiers in the Stormcloak army, you fool. No doubt the Jarl will look more kindly on our side of things than that of a traitorous old Nord like you."

Lowering his hand to the sword hilt by his side, Brunwulf took a step forward.

"Watch your words, Angrenor _Once-Honored_," he said lightly. "There's still enough salt in this ol' Nord to deal with the likes of you. Even a man like Ulfric isn't able to listen to the words of a dead man. If you put my honor in question, I'll gladly take away any hope of you gaining yours back with one strike of my sword."

With a noise, Brunwulf found himself staring into the scarred and unhappy face of Rolff as the man pushed his compatriot aside.

"Easy now, Brunwulf," Rolff said, holding up a hand, "You might want to think before you pull that rusty blade from the scabbard. The Jarl forbids open violence in the streets, remember? We'd hate to see you thrown in the dungeon of the Palace."

Glancing back, Rolff shook his head. "Come on, Angrenor. The wife will be finishing up dinner by now. Let's let traitorous dogs lie for once."

Angrenor frowned, but turned away. Brunwulf watched the man leave until Rolff gained his attention once more by laughing.

"You think yourself a hard man, Brunwulf." The red-haired Nord muttered, running fingers over his bristling mustache. "But there'll come a day when Ulfric will push the Imperials and their dogs out of the province. Watch your back when those days come."

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* * *

.

The Candlehearth Hall lay in the heart of the city, a large, two-story building made of massive wooden logs, sealed from the bone-chilling temperatures outside with mud, pitch, and straw. Inside, there was warmth and companionship, but only for the right price. If you were not a Nord, like so many things in Windhelm there was a penalty. The only other lodging to be found was in the Gray Quarter among those the Nords deemed unfit for company.

Brunwulf tracked the newcomer at the Candlehearth Hall only after searching the free market near the temple first. As the girl looked ragged and thin even with layers of clothing, he'd first expected her to go to the nearest food stall and purchase something to eat and perhaps something alcoholic to warm up her bones. He had been mistaken. After a moment of careful thought and sudden clarity, he turned around and headed in the direction of the Candlehearth. It made perfect sense.

A traveler would first want to find lodging and rest a while. This one – young as she seemed to be – had probably felt intimidated after seeing violence geared towards the Dunmer and decided to find a more secure place to be.

As he approached from the western-most quarter of Windhelm, he saw a huddled figure outside the large, carved doors of the inn staring up at the building with a mixture of uncertainty and annoyance written all over her wind-chaffed face. Not wanting to startle her, he called out to her jovially.

"It's too cursed icy to be standing out here looking at the Hall, lady. Perhaps you should save your awe for a warmer day and go inside."

The woman turned, eyes searching for the origin of the voice. Brunwulf took this moment to approach her now, separating himself from the others that passed by or milled around the wooden structure.

"I've already been inside." She muttered, wearily appraising him with light brown eyes. "Seems a Breton is no better than an elf in this city...the price was ridiculous, half of what I have left."

Brunwulf stopped a comfortable distance away from the woman, nodding as he glanced towards the building.

"Yes, Elda is a tough one when she takes a disliking to someone...though I don't see why she would take a disliking to you. You seem well enough to me."

The woman pulled her woolen cloak around her neck and shoulders more firmly and shrugged. Her hands looked red and raw as well.

_How long_, he wondered absently_, has this woman been traveling? And why would she be traveling in such weather?_

"Seems I had the bad grace to mention the argument I saw in an alleyway not long after being interrogated at the gate. I asked why anyone would accuse the Dunmer of being spies and suddenly the price of a room increased from ten gold pieces to twenty-five for a single night."

There was touch of bitterness in her tone that Brunwulf found validating. At the very least, the girl was a decent sort that did not believe what she heard. He smiled.

"Yes, the stones of Windhelm are not the only things cold and frozen. There are many bigoted Nords in this city that see some races as less than equal and the rest as damn near untouchable - like the Argonians and the Khajiit. They usually aren't allowed inside the gates at all, except for trade and taxation."

"Listen to me," Brunwulf suddenly exclaimed, "yammering on like an ol' woman. Seems I'm too rude to even introduce myself. Brunwulf Free-Winter, at your service..."

"Elise," she replied, inclining her head in greeting. "Elise Motierre. I'm traveling to Winterhold."

Brunwulf's eyes widened. "Winterhold?"

"Yes. I'm going to study at the College. Have you anything bigoted to say about that, Brunwulf Free-Winter? A lot of Nords like to spout nonsense about the foolishness of magickal arts."

"I don't trust such things, I admit. But that doesn't mean I'm not willing to suggest a place for safe lodging and hot food. If you have no problem with the Dunmer yourself, the New Gnisis Cornerclub is just the place for you. Magic-wielders, the lot of them...just mention the name Free-Winter to the man at the bar and they'll be pleasant enough."

"Where is this Cornerclub?" the girl inquired next, looking a touch suspicious and relieved at the same time. "I feel as though I've walked all over this frozen city and I've not seen it."

Unable to help himself, Brunwulf laughed. "Of course, you wouldn't have seen it. It's down in the Gray Quarters...right slum of a place in all honesty...but you'll find no better food or drink anywhere else. What's more, for a traveler, there's the convenience of a small merchant shop right next door called Sadri's Used Wares."

The woman, Elise, looked uncertain. She raised a hand to the thin column of her neck and fidgeted with the heavy pewter clasp of her woolen cloak.

"How much do they charge for a night? I have little in the way of coin and no way of getting more at the moment."

"Oh, child...I hardly think Ambarys will charge much for a sprig of a girl like you. You can't take up much space and you're pleasant to look at besides. As for the old elf that runs the merchant shop, Revyn, don't let his manner put you off. He'll give you a fair price on whatever you might need."

The young Breton threw another glance towards the Candlehearth Hall and he saw her wind-chaffed face twist in distaste. They stood there in the cold for several moments before she finally answered. Though obviously weary of him and his bit of advice, she finally graced him with a weary smile.

"Very well, Brunwulf, the New Gnisis Cornerclub it will be. If you will kindly point me in the right direction, I'll be on my way."


	3. Blood on the Ice

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the storyline, plot, history or characters found in the Elder Scrolls series. I own only what is not stated in the game or by the developers/writers. Thank you.

Thank you to the lovely reviewers of last chapter: **SickReality**, **Shroudedpanther**, and **LilCookie84**. You guys are great. :D

* * *

**Chapter Three**

Blood on the Ice

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Despite being early evening, the New Gnisis Cornerclub was still bustling with the usual amalgam of patrons and drunkards. The orange light of both braziers and the candles alike danced over the features of each gray face. Ambarys was behind the stained and battered counter, wiping up a bit of spilled wine with a dingy cloth while Malthyr carried bowls and tankards to table after crowded table.

Outside the door of the tavern, the wind had started to howl once more and the middle-aged elf sighed. The weather never changed in Windhelm – even in the height of summer the soil barely thawed. It was remarkable that the farmsteads outside the city walls managed to plant any crops at all, much less harvest anything.

Spilled wine now gone from the countertop, Ambarys got settled on a rough wooden stool and prepared to figure accounts. He had barely managed to pull the cumbersome, leather-bound ledger out from beneath the counter when the door of the tavern opened. Along with a chilling blast of air, a small cloaked figure entered into the common room and stood in the doorway momentarily.

Hands reached up and pushed back the hood of the cloak and revealed a reddened face of a young woman. From the vaguely pointed ears peeking out from stringy brown hair and the slight stature, Ambarys guessed the woman's race was Breton. Glancing around the room, the woman took in the expanse of the room and, apparently seeing some of the patrons' bewilderment at her presence, nodded a greeting before starting towards Ambarys and his counter.

Closing his ledger and stashing it underneath the counter once more, the Dunmer stood. When the new arrival reached him, she pulled out a small coin purse from the folds of her cloak.

"Hello, my name is Elise," she said, looking up at him with a hopeful smile. "I just arrived in the city and need lodging for a few days. Do you have anything?"

"I'm not sure I have any rooms available." Ambarys answered. "Why don't you find lodging elsewhere, traveler? Perhaps at the Candlehearth..."

"I've just come from the Candlehearth Hall." The woman, Elise, replied with a frown. "I was not welcome. I was told by a Nord named Brunwulf Free-Winter that I could find warm lodging and good food here."

"Brunwulf, you say?" Ambarys repeated. "Well, I suppose that changes things. I may have a room available, but it isn't free. The price is ten gold pieces a night, food and hot water for cleaning is extra."

The woman's face fell. "I see."

She turned away then and, for a moment, he expected her to simply march back towards the door of the tavern and leave. But no, she simply opened her small pouch of coins and stuck a finger into the opening and counted under her breath.

"How much extra would a bucket of hot water cost?" the woman asked, turning and regarding him intensely. "I've been on the road for many days and need to refresh myself. That besides, I have enough coin for a two nights and two meals."

"Five coins," Ambarys answered.

The Breton did not protest the price, simply sighed and began counting out coins. As she placed each gleaming piece of gold on the counter in front of him, he counted along with her secretly. When all twenty-five pieces were presented, he quickly scooped them up and put them in his own coin pouch.

"May I see my room now?" she muttered. "I'm exhausted and would like to rest before having a bit of dinner."

"Of course, the stairs are in the next room." Ambarys answered, giving the young woman a smile. Removing himself from behind the counter, the Dunmer swept his hand towards the adjoining room. "I'll show you to your room."

The woman's own smile was wearier, but was no less genuine. Taking that as encouragement, Ambarys gestured for her to follow and started towards the doorway. After a moment or two, he heard her fall in behind him.

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* * *

.

Ten gold coins, as it turned out, bought little more than a furnished closet space in the little Dunmer inn. The room that the proprietor brought her to was roughly a fathom across and less than a fathom and a half long. A tiny room, it was barely large enough for the bed and the side table that adored it. Had Elise stood in the middle of the room and stretched out her arms, her fingers would have missed touching the walls by two or three inches.

Still, Elise thought as she unpacked her meager belongings, it was better than some dank, drafty cave out in the wilderness.

Here, at least, there was a straw mattress and a couple of blankets to keep her warm. Here, in blessed solitude and safety, she would be able to bathe herself without fear of freezing to death, getting ambushed by hungry wildlife, or being raped and murdered by marauding bandits.

Three sharp raps on the closed door caused the Breton woman to look up quickly. Dropping soiled garments she had packed at the bottom of her knapsack, she went to the door and took hold of the handle. She hesitated a moment before finally pulling it slightly ajar and peering out into the hallway beyond.

The youthful face of a Dunmer peered back at her, his slanted red eyes regarding her with relative warmth. He was lithe and muscular, decades younger that the proprietor that had escorted her to her temporary quarters. His ebony hair was pulled into a queue on the crown of his head and he appeared well-groomed despite his poorer clothing.

"Yes?" she asked politely, though she did not open the door any more.

With a gentle smile, the Dunmer youth raised one arm and presented a large bucket of steaming water for her inspection. In his other, she noticed, he carried a pewter plate of food and a small bottle of what looked like mead or beer.

"Your hot water and your evening meal, miss. My uncle, Ambarys, asked that I bring them up to you after you had time to get settled." He replied, his eyes taking in her appearance briefly before returning to her eyes. "I'm Malthyr and I welcome you to the New Gnisis Cornerclub...and incidentally, to Windhelm, though I wouldn't advise you to stay longer than necessary."

Opening the door a bit wider, Elise regarded him with guarded interest. Reaching out her hand, she took the bucket he offered.

"Elise Motierre." She told him absently before her mind picked up on his last words. Frowning, she raised an eyebrow.

"Oh? And why is that?"

"Windhelm is not a place for anyone who cannot boast Nord heritage. My people are treated like trespassers, though many of us have lived here for decades." He explained calmly. "The Argonians are treated like filth and are usually kept near the docks...others, like you, are hardly welcome either...as I'm sure you have already noticed."

Elise replayed her interaction with the guards, followed by the incident she witness in the open streets. Repressing a full-blown shudder, she settled for a nod.

"Yes." She agreed. "I noticed."

The youth, Malthyr, nodded as well. "There you have it then. Enjoy your stay, if you can, but be on your way as soon as coin and weather allow."

"Why are you telling me this?" She asked, frowning. "I am nothing but a stranger to you and your uncle."

"Brunwulf sent you here because you had nowhere else to go. He is a good man and has intervened on my peoples' behalf many times...but the shadows of this city are darker than you could know. I say all of this for your own well-being, miss, and for no other reason."

He finally looked away then, releasing Elise from his red-eyed stare. Down below, she heard what she thought was the heavy tavern doors slamming closed and some muffled arguing. Unease slid into Malthyr's previously relaxed stance and Elise opened her mouth to question him.

"I must go now." He said, not giving her the opportunity. "My uncle has need of me. You should stay inside your room. Just leave everything outside your door when you are finished. I'll come get it later."

"But-"

"Good-night." He said firmly, turning away. Proceeding down the hall, he halted at the top of the nearby stairway long enough to spare her one last look before disappearing completely from her sight.

Unnerved by the exchange, Elise wordlessly took her bucket and her meal back into her room and did as the elf asked her. Moreover, as the entire conversation repeated itself in her head, she decided to lock the door behind her.

.

* * *

.

With her Nord blood lending a better than average tolerance of frost, Susanna barely shivered as she wandered from the Candlehearth Inn towards the Temple of Talos in the northwestern most corner of the city. Drawing her thick cloak more tightly around her body, she heaved a weary sigh into the night air. Moisture from her breath gave rise to a puff of misty vapor that quickly evaporated as she carefully picked her way along the treacherous, ice-covered streets.

Known as Susanna the Wicked, the Nordic woman was a favorite among the guards and unmarried menfolk of the settlement. When she was not doling out mead to the frozen citizens, she was warming their beds with feats of sexual expertise that were her namesake. Now, however, with no one to buy her virtue and having served all the ale and mead she was asked to, it was time to slink back to her own squalid corner of Windhelm.

On the outskirts of marketplace, near the grand and vaulted majesty of the Temple of Talos there was a small group of row-houses. They were drafty, especially on nights like this, but also cheap. Perhaps more importantly, the small hovels were devoid of skeevers – large rodents that Susanna hated with a passion that rivaled her prowess between the blankets.

After a day like today – spent mostly on her feet for once – she was ready for a night in her own bed with nothing but her thoughts for company. She turned another corner, pausing for a moment to bring a hand to her mouth as a yawn overtook her visage. Somewhere ahead, a stray dog barked once...twice, before quieting once more. Feeling her eyes growing heavier, Susanna pushed onward and decided at the last minute to cut through the graveyard of the Temple.

Encased in a thin layer of ice and set aglow in the light of the twin moons, the tall gravestones stood in silent vigil of her passing. Boots crunching in the snow, Susanna did not hear his approach until too late.

A hand, thin and skeletal, closed tightly upon her mouth from behind. Surprise and exhaustion made her reaction weak; nevertheless she struggled against the sudden attack and clawed at the offending hand. Undaunted, her attacker jerked her backwards unbalancing her and briefly halting her struggle. Yet, that brief moment of stillness was all he needed.

Seconds later, agony erupted in her abdomen as her unseen attacker thrust something wide and sharp into the flesh there. Hand muffling her screams, the weapon was raised by the other once more – the dagger gleaming red now in the moonlight. Her eyes widened further as the blade was sheathed in her body a second time.

Nord blood flowed to the frozen ground below, hot and steaming in the night air. As her life poured out of her, Susanna felt the harsh bite of winter fully for the first time. Unable to support her any longer, her legs buckled.

_It's so cold._ She thought, darkness creeping into the edge of her vision now. _So cold._

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* * *

.

Moonlight glinted off the bloody stones, creating a ruddy pool that rapidly cooled in the falling temperature. The figure stared down in mild detachment at the woman who, seconds earlier, had struggled for her very life. She was a fine specimen of the Nordic race – tall and fair, and naturally soft in every place a woman should be soft.

In some corner of his mind, he regretted the need for her death, but such could not be avoided. He needed fresh material and nothing less than the best would suffice.

Necromancy was an arcane science rife with hardships – the most notable being the constant need for fresh and durable material. Though only a week had passed since his last harvesting, and despite the favorable weather his first victim's remains had already begun to rot. It had nearly driven him mad trying to both observe and chose his next target without drawing attention. By divine providence – perhaps even the Worm King himself – he'd stumbled upon a prime candidate while traveling home in the darkness.

Sparing no more time, the figure bent down carefully to begin the next stage of his work. Gripping the body of the woman firmly underneath her arms, he began the arduous task of spiriting her away without being seen or heard. The secret of Hjerim lay open to him now that he'd unlocked the seal and _her _spirit could not be left in the planes of Oblivion much longer. Too much time had passed already and it would not long before her spirit could no longer be summoned.

He needed to hurry.


End file.
